The Man, the Mirror, and the Manacle
by AmaryllisWhimsy
Summary: He was the king, with an only child, and a daughter at that. But to her, he was the man who kept her at arms length, the man who would never love her. /One-Shot/


**The former Queen of Arendelle intrigued me greatly, and I don't really know why. So this was born. I don't own Frozen or any of the characters, but the writing is my own.**

**OooOooO**

_The Man._

He was a tall, imposing figure that rarely spoke, and if he did, it came out direct and precise. He never wasted his time with babbling, or small talk. It almost seemed as if such things physically pained him to the point where he couldn't bear it, thus she lived in the absence of warm conversations, and talkative chatter. For the most part it remained frigid and quiet.

If he did chance to speak, it was hardly ever directed to her. Someone behind her, or beside her, sometimes even to people _about _her, but never actually at her.

The few times he had, they had been orders, and once he'd stared at her with his piercing brown gaze and stated bluntly "If only I had fathered a son."

But then, that had been more to himself, and it wasn't as if she made any kind of response. What sort of reply could there be? Soon afterwards he passed his gaze over her, like he'd always done, and they were left back to the cold yet comfortable distance that they always kept.

He was the king, with an only child, and a daughter at that. But to her, he was the man who kept her at arms length, the man who would never love her.

OooOooO

She might have only been thirteen, but Tatiana knew that the death of the Queen (otherwise but not formally known as the death of her mother) came as a gigantic relief to the King. This meant that he could wed again, it meant that there might still be a chance for an heir, and it meant that Tatiana's place in the palace was precarious at best.

Even though she felt guilty, she could not shove these thoughts aside during her mother's funeral. Even as the words were spoken over her lifeless body, even as the black dress squeezed at her middle section, Tatiana could not stop thinking about what would become of her if another heir were to be born.

She stole a glance at her father. The man. The man whose neck looked stiff underneath his crown, who sat with straight, excellent posture, and whose eyes, she noted, strangely held a trace of sorrow.

But he glanced away a moment, and when he looked forward again, they were as they had always been, stern, and unreadable.

OooOooO

"You have a baby brother."

She finds it strange to hear him address her. She had expected him to forget about her entirely during the event, and if not, then for him to send a servant girl to break the news. She does not say anything, only stares at his brown eyes which do not waver as they meet her own.

"You must know what this means."

"Yes."

He pauses a moment. His next words are uncharacteristic. "You look like your mother, Tatiana."

Now it is her turn to hesitate. "Thank you." He gives a ghost of a smile, and turns his back, leaving her still sitting on her bed, a book she'd forgotten she was holding clutched to her chest. It is one of the longest conversations she's ever had with him.

She has caught brief glances of the new queen. Nothing at all like her mother. This woman's hair is like melted gold flowing down her back, and her eyes are a soft hazel. She smiles easily, and once she even smiled at Tatiana, and it is impossible for her to imagine someone so gentle and warm in the arms of someone like him. The man. Her father. The king.

OooOooO

_The Mirror._

She stares into it, trying to see deeper than what it can reflect. All it shows is her mothers gray blue eyes, dark brown hair braided up with flowers and pearls, a frightened face, a princess in a white gown.

A bride.

She's only sixteen, and she's only met her groom twice, once formally and for a few seconds, the other over a lunch with all of the advisors watching. It had been horribly uncomfortable.

Despite this, she felt marginally better at the fact that her husband to be had looked even more awkward and nervous than herself. He was only maybe two years older than her, and his face was kind. His mouth turned up naturally, as if he smiled often, and his eyes were sincere. Their conversation had been rather forced, but she got the feeling that if they'd been alone he would have been more talkative.

Her father had picked him for purely diplomatic reasons, but Tatiana felt grateful and relieved nonetheless. After all, he hadn't seemed rude, cruel, or disgusting. Compared to some of the Prince's out there, she really could have done worse.

She would never admit it aloud, but he was admittedly handsome.

The maids pull the cloud white veil over her face, and she turns away from the mirror. "It's time," she hears one say, and with a deep breath, Tatiana steps up to the large, oak doors. She wishes the butterflies in her stomach would drop away.

OooOooO

After the wedding, after the feast, the dancing, the revelry, after all that comes the carriage. It's a delicately carved thing fit for a princess on her wedding day, and yet, Tatiana wants to cry as she looks at it. All she has ever known is a lonely castle with very few friends, but since it is all she's ever known, she cannot help but feel frightened to leave it.

It's going to take her far, far away. Allan is the Prince (soon to be King) of a country up in mountains, a horribly long ways from here. Tatiana wonders if her father does it on purpose.

They pile in the carriage, Allan sitting across from her. It starts to move forward, with a rattle of the wheels, and Tatiana turns her head to catch a last glimpse of what has been her home for the last sixteen years.

Her father stands with all the well wishers. It reminds her of the day of her mothers funeral. The way he stands with a straight, rigid posture, mouth a firm line. She is too far away to see his eyes, and she can only hope that maybe there is some trace of sorrow there. She leaves his cold, commanding presence, his frozen heart.

That glimpse out of the carriage is the last she ever sees of him.

OooOooO

It didn't take long for her to fall in love with Allan. He was warm, friendly, and he loved to laugh. At first these outbursts of mirth had startled her. She's always concealed laughter in her old home, because father never did it and wasn't to be disturbed, and besides, there was precious little to laugh at.

But Allan, he would do it repeatedly. He would laugh fully, from the gut, bent over and wheezing. It was horrifying to her eyes at first, but after a time, she learned to like it. Then she started doing it herself. It felt wonderful, and she wondered at not having done it before.

These were happy years, full of everything Tatiana had ever wanted.

When she looked into the mirror, she saw a woman with laugh lines, a woman who held her head up high, a wife, soon to be mother, the queen.

OooOooO

_The Manacle._

Elsa will not touch her.

Granted, Elsa will touch no one, but Tatiana longs to embrace her oldest child, to comb back wisps of flyaway hair from her face, to tickle her, to treat her as she really is. A _child. _

She remembers not being touched as a young girl. Never feeling the circle of arms around her shoulders, not understanding what love meant, save for the times she got to visit her sickly mother.

She can't help but feel that Allan's approach is all wrong, that just letting it be will hurt no one, but she cannot cross him on this. He is convinced.

But she does try. She tries her hardest for Elsa to understand that she will _always _love her, snow or no snow, that it doesn't matter if ice shoots from her fingertips, that her skin is always cold. She just wants her to be happy.

She feels shackled somehow, helpless. She sits in the library and wonders why everyone always shuts her out in the end.

OooOooO

"Do you really have to go?" Elsa asks in a desperate voice. Tatiana's heart goes out to her, but she desires for her daughter to understand that she is not dependent on her parents. That she truly is in control, that she can handle things without them.

"You'll be fine," Allan says, and they step out together towards the door. The sun shines, despite the chill of the morning, and Tatiana smiles. She looks over her shoulder back at Elsa, standing rigidly by the staircase.

That glimpse from the door is the last she ever sees of her.

OooOooO

**I'm actually rather proud of this. The Queen really took shape in my mind here. So if you have any complaints, suggestions, or comments, than I humbly ask you to leave a review. I'd love to get some feedback on this.**


End file.
